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The Nithing
Eye of Horus
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A curse siphoning strength from the blood of a newborn
His marrow dry, Your feeble eyes fear the sun of the morn
Your cries to God, devoid of faith, with all hope gone.
A boiled skull of a mare staked to a pole
The runes writ in blood will devour his soul
The Nithing taketh place on hallows night
I can't help myself, I feed off tears and fright
His heart will pump in vain, his lungs shall flood
So it has been written in a parchment doused with blood
So you seek out vengeance
To mend your shattered heart
Amidst decrepit and tattered scripts
You might grasp at ancient wicked arts
Your soul bereaved
Your fate I'll weave
Lest you forget
to atone for your debt
Deeper in lust
Give me your trust
For a soul bereaved
All you can do is read
Read for me
The volumes of the dark
Serve me well and your child will breathe anew
This I swear to you
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